


St. Anger

by bloodasthickasink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gore, Manipulation, POV First Person, Reader Has A Name, Reader-Insert, Seriously fucked up, This is A Fucked Up Fic, not really major character death? It's faked character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodasthickasink/pseuds/bloodasthickasink
Summary: "No trait is more justified than revenge in the right time and place."- Meir KahaneThe world is funny place. Two brother's loss is a demon's gain.Things couldn't go any better for Crowley. Not only does he get to break the Winchester's, he gets a new and powerful ally, one Girl Queen under his thumb.





	St. Anger

I sit on the old, dilapidated couch in the run-down house I’m in. A spring is poking me in the back, and I can feel the blood and viscera from the vampire I just killed pooling on the cushion underneath me. The only reason I notice the sensation of the assorted gore collecting is because it isn’t something I normally feel. I tend to be good about wiping off as much grime off of me after I finish a hunt. This time, my mind is too preoccupied, thoughts swirling around almost too fast for me to keep track. One thought, one _emotion_ continually comes to the forefront of my mind.

Anger.

I thought doing this hunt by myself would help me release this anger, help me get rid of this boiling rage. I thought maybe tearing something into pieces would help me. And it did.

At first.

Now that I’ve got time to think, my mind wanders back to the problem I’d been trying to ignore. Unconsciously, my jaw clenches and my upper lip twitches. I have to bite down on my tongue to prevent the snarl from going any further. It redirects itself to other parts of my body, causing my whole body to shake. The worst is my right leg. It’s bouncing up and down at an alarming rate. It’s bouncing up and down so fast it’s annoying me.

Swiftly, I move to my feet and began pacing around the room. The vampire’s forever-dead body lies in the middle of the room and the head sits impaled on a lamp without a shade. I vaguely remember doing that. The feeling of lifting the head up and shoving it down to the base of the lamp is familiar. I look down at my shirt.

“Well, that explains that.” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else, as I try to wipe away the large chunk of eyeball still clinging to the fabric. I get most of it, but some of the goop sticks. I shrug. It’s not like it really matters. 

Again, my thoughts betray me. I’m not keeping myself occupied, so my brain decides to fixate once again on the Winchesters. I can’t help the noise that makes its way out of my chest. It feels good, feels right, so I let it come out of me again as I kick the body. It’s a feral noise, one born of complete anger, and it spurs me to kick the body again. I can hear ribs breaking under the blows. I snarl and swing the heel of my foot directly down on to the chest. 

_Crack!_

I grin as I feel the vampire’s sternum give way under my foot. It feels good. I lean on the foot now firmly planted on the dead thing’s chest and begin pushing all of my weight onto it. I hear more bones crack, and I’m filled with an unnatural amount of glee.

For a moment, the body under me isn’t the body of some anonymous monster. It’s Dean under my boot. It quickly switches to Sam. Finally, my so-called ‘best friend.’ When I see her face in my mind, I push even harder. I don’t have to look to know that the chest cavity has been entirely caved in.  
I want the Winchesters to hurt as much as I do right now. I want that _bitch_ to hurt like I do right now. If only I could find a way for them to suffer, for them to feel like I feel at this moment, without them getting payback.

I pause and blink. Slowly, a grin starts to make its way onto my face. The idea that just came to me is simple. So simple, really. I don’t know why I’ve wasted all this time being angry instead of getting even like I want. My body moves of its own accord while my brain runs through the plan.

It doesn’t take too long to get what I need. I have most of the stuff in my duffel that I keep in the hidden compartment in the bed of my truck. The rest I find around the house. I ready myself and begin.

“Where’s Moose and Squirrel?” Crowley looks around the dilapidated and now blood-covered house.

“I don’t know and don’t care, Boris.” I shrug. “Probably hiding in the Bunker.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Trouble in Paradise? Finally tired of the two over-bearing plaid monstrosities?” 

“Are you referring to them or their clothes?” I try to keep the smile off my face. Crowley lets a smirk cross his.

“Both. But let’s cut to the chase. You wouldn’t summon me unless you wanted something.” He points to me by tilting the glass of scotch in his hand towards me slightly. “So what is it you want?”

“Sam and Dean.” I run my tongue over my teeth. For a moment, the idea seems stupid. It’s too much, too soon. They don’t deserve it. All those thoughts are squashed by the look Crowley gives me.

“Finally realize they were using you?” Crowley’s tone is mocking, but a weird undertone of sympathy is in it. “Figure out they were keeping a leash on you?”

I blink at that. “Keeping… Keeping a leash on me?”

Crowley snorts. “Don’t play dumb, Kitten. It doesn’t suit you. Devious and ambitious do, not cheap tricks.” He looks at my face for a moment. “You really don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” I feel antsy. My skin is beginning to crawl. He rolls his eyes.

“Honestly, you thought you kept your little secret hidden? That you’re one of dearly departed Azazel’s children? Please. Sam could tell, you know. He knew from the moment he saw you.” A heavy weight begins to settle in my stomach. “Of course, it was Dean’s idea to keep you around. I doubt they intended for you to fall in love with them, but…” He shrugs. “You know how they are. They use anything to their advantage.”  
“And you don’t?” I challenge. I know he’s right, and I hate it. I don’t want to admit it. The rage that had died down some begins building again.

“Oh, I absolutely do.” Crowley’s voice holds a hint of pride. “But the difference is I don’t lie to myself. I don’t labor under delusions or try to play hero.”

I close my eyes. He knows I know he’s right. He knows his words are getting under my skin. I suspect he even knows why I summoned him. I take a deep breathe.

“Okay, cat’s out of the bag. I’m one of Azazel’s children.” I lift my chin, holding my head up high. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it with confidence. “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” His voice holds a note of interest. I run my tongue over my lips briefly, trying to get rid of the sudden dry feeling.

“I want to make a deal.” I take a deep breathe. “I’m offering myself as Girl Queen or whatever it’s called, but not as way to usurp your throne. Rather, I want to be more like your Knight or second-in-command, whatever you want to call it. I’m sure having an intended ruler of demons would help you quite a lot when it comes to squash rebellions and keeping demons in line.”

Crowley smirks. “I see. I assume you want something out of me as a part of this deal, yes?” I nod.

“I want to fake my death. I want the Winchesters to completely believe that I’m dead and have no way to track me. I want them to suffer the death of another one of their fr-“ I stop myself. I’m not their friend; I was never their friend. “I want them to suffer knowing another one of their people died. That they curse everyone around them to die.”

A smile makes its way onto Crowley’s face. “Of course I’ll take that deal.” I can tell he’s suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. “I’d be a fool not to. I would, however, like to make one amendment.”

I cross my arms over my chest before I nod.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing too big, just an extra bit of… misery for them.”

“Which is?”

“I get to be the one who tells them you’re still very much alive. And that this is indeed all because of them.”

I have to bite my lip to suppress my own grin. “I’d be a fool to not to take that deal.” 

He gives me a look that clearly asks me what I’m waiting for as he steps to the edge of the Devil’s Trap. I take a moment to scrape the chalk away slightly before I move towards him. I want to hesitate, want to back away and call it all off. Instead, I lean towards him and kiss him.

It’s a hungry and passionate kiss, just as I suspected. Still, it takes me by surprise. My eyes flutter shut of their own accord. I realize that my hands are moving to curl in his hair. I push him away before I can do that. The devious smile he gives me, accompanied by a wink, tells me he knows what I wanted to do. I clearly my throat and smooth down the front of my clothes. 

“Don’t blame yourself.” He practically purrs. “I do tend to have that effect on people.”

“Yeah, sure.” I look away for a second before lifting my head again. “Did you have anything in mind for faking my death? Because I’ve got a few ideas.”

 

“Hello?” Dean’s voice is thick with sleep when he answers the phone. Sam looks at him from across the room, an expression of curiosity written on his face. Maybe it was finally Ashley. She’d gone on a hunt several days ago, and both he and Dean were starting to get worried. She’d been upset when she left. They’d all been upset. It’d been a bad fight, one that resulted in her leaving. She said she was taking a case to clear her mind, but the brothers knew better than that. They knew her. Sam figured it would blow over in a few days, once Dean got his head out of his ass and apologized.

What worried them was she never responded to their apologies.

Sam had apologized first. Normally, Ashley was the one to do so, but this time, Sam knew that he had to. He’d called her, left a voicemail, and texted her. No response. It wasn’t unusual for her to not respond to apologies right away if she was stewing, so he thought nothing of it. The anxiety of not have a response right away did gnaw at him, but he’d been able to push it aside.

That was until Dean apologized. 

Sam heard bits and pieces of the voicemail. He hadn’t meant to listen in, but he’d been walking by Dean’s room when it happened. He could tell from his brother’s voice that it was one of his most sincere apologies. He’d practically begged Ashley to come back, which meant Dean knew he fucked up and fucked up bad.

No response. That terrified the boys. Sam wasn’t sure Dean knew, but Ashley had it bad for Dean. He suspected that she had it bad for the both of them, but he knew it was much stronger when it came to Dean. She still would hold out sometimes, but once Dean contacted her, she usually responded within several hours.

That had been days ago. Almost two weeks. Dean was pissed at first, assuming she was just taking it out on him. Sam, well… Sam was worried. The worry increased for several days until they both came to the conclusion to go check on Ashley. Neither of them had said any words; they just gave each other a look over dinner one night. The next morning, their bags were packed, and they were headed to some small Alabama town. This was their second night. The first night, both of them crashed and crashed hard. They spent the day looking for Ashley, not no avail. They dropped Selena off on another case. The three of them knew that Ashley and Selena’s friendship was over for good. Even if it wasn’t, they all knew Ashley well enough to know she would verbally eviscerate her former best friend on sight. Obviously, Selena wasn’t happy with the choice. Ashley over her. But she had gotten a big win for herself, so she couldn’t complain too much.

Sam thinks of That Night, thinks of how Selena looked and the placement of her freckles and stretch marks, and how both he and Dean had mapped them as if they’d never see her again. He supposes they were right in a way.

It still hurt to think about it. It hurt like almost nothing he had ever felt before when he saw the look on Ashley’s face when she realized. What made it worse was Selena had the audacity to smirk. The only reason the two didn’t kick her out right away was that they thought it must have been a mistake or a fluke. They both knew it wasn’t. 

“Squirrel. You might want to put this on speaker. Moose is going to want to hear this as well.” Dean’s eyes widened, and he sits up in bed in an instant. Surprisingly, he does put it on speaker.

“I swear to all things Holy, Crowley, if you hurt Ashley.” Crowley laughs.

“Funny you should mention her…”

Sam gets out of his chair and bolts across the room.

“Crowley.” His voice is practically a growl. Dean begins to shake, jaw clenching.

“You son of a bi-“

“Relax. _I_ didn’t do anything to her. My boys, well…” They both can hear the smirk from the other end of the line. “They do have a mind of their own sometimes. What can I say, I must be losing my touch.”

“The fuck did they do to her?” Dean manages to spit out. Sam is shaking too. It’s mostly rage. 

“Sunrise Motel. Room 6. In my infinite generosity, I managed to get all the pieces of her back in one place. Thought you boys might want to give her a proper hunter’s funeral. After all, if it weren’t for you two, she might still be alive.”

The line goes dead.

The two move almost in unison, throwing on clothes and running to the Impala. Dirt and rocks fly in to the air, accompanying the screech of the Impala’s tires. Thankfully, there’s no tape around her room when they get there. For a moment, they pause and look at each other.

“Do you…” Sam begins.

“No, but we… We have to.” 

They don’t have to pick the lock or kick down the door. The knob turns, and the door swings slowly open.

Sam feels like it can’t be real, that no human could create that much gore and blood, that no demon or Hellhound could tear something apart so thoroughly. Dean, for his part, looks as if he wants to throw up. All Sam can think about as he stares into the motel room is one of the few episodes of Dexter he’d seen. Brady had convinced him to watch it. All he can think about is that motel room on a tv show had been covered with the blood of four people, and how this motel room looked earlier similar and somehow much worse. He could vaguely make out pieces of internal organs. Part of the small intestine strung about the room. One of the chambers of her heart was stuck to the bathroom door. Another one was on the night stand. A kidney lay on top of the dresser. A bite had been taken out of it. It was hard to tell if it was made by human or animal teeth. 

Dean steps outside. He lets himself sink to the pavement. 

“Fuck.” Is all he manages to say.


End file.
